


01. Anacrusis

by Limanya



Series: Bonnie's Song [1]
Category: Runescape (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:54:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limanya/pseuds/Limanya
Summary: When an Ardougnese noblewoman travels to Lumbridge to meet her cousin, she finds that it changes both their lives — forever.And when a young woman from Lumbridge is suddenly visited by family she never knew she had, the world seems to get a whole lot bigger.
Series: Bonnie's Song [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1779256
Comments: 10
Kudos: 11





	1. Folia

Morning, Frances observed, came in stages.

First of all, when the sun was yet to rise above the rooftops, there were the many merchants flocking to set up their stalls. Their clientele had not awoken quite as early, and as such, the salesmen had little to do except idly tend to their wares while they waited.

Then there were the pious men: drawn from their beds not from love for the city's commerce, but instead out of a desire to please their god. _Did their Lord of Light ever sleep in?_ The thought was amusing — if near-blasphemous. No matter. They stayed in their churches, and Frances would stay here, in her room, by her window.

And then came the rest. The commoners, not holy enough to drag themselves from their sleep to the altars or, if they were holy enough, slowly trickling out from where they spent their mornings in worship. They flooded towards their workplaces, towards the marketplace, and to wherever their daily business would take them. The nobles were much alike in that respect, though they tended to trade pressure for poise. How funny it was, she thought, that they were often more concerned with others than with themselves. They prayed fervently, not for their own faith but so others would think them saintly. They were the market's greatest patrons, not for the sake of enriching their own lives with those many wares, but rather to only appear to others as if that were the case.

Yes, Ardougne was a city of contradictions. But that was exactly what she liked about it.

Feeling refreshed by her little interlude of daydreaming, Frances returned to the task at hand. Before her lay a letter, and below it, her response — well, what _would_ be her response, had she known the words to write. It was an ordeal, and much more of one than it ought to be. _Focus_ , she told herself. _Focus, and whatever you do, don't spill any ink on the desk._

It didn’t work. The day was young, and perhaps the words would come to her still, but that thought was of little comfort. _There is another stage_ , she thought to herself. _It’s when the mail comes, and no one remembers what they were doing before._

Before she returned to her letter once more, Frances heard her name called. _Speak of the demons!_ she thought — _is it more mail?_ Her suspicions were confirmed once she had reached the bottom of the stairs. There stood Lady Daylett, her mother, holding a sealed yet somewhat crumpled envelope in her hand.

“From Percy,” she said, beckoning for Frances to follow her to the breakfast table. “To you. But he has told me that he is doing _quite_ fine, there. I suppose Yanille must have been good for him.”

_That’s what you’d like to believe_ , Frances thought, taking her usual place at the table. The chair to her left was empty, as it had been for the past… how long had it been now? Eight months, she’d wagered. No — she was sure it had been eight months. She wouldn’t easily forget their parting.

But now her father, sitting across from her, had grown impatient. Impatient, or hungry? There clearly was something on her mind: her parents both could tell, and had Percy been here, he’d have been the first to say something. He wasn’t here, though. Instead, her mother chose to break the silence:

“Frances, my dear. Have you tried one of these pastries yet?”

Frances glanced over the table. The food, truth be told, looked incredible; and had she not spent much of her youth getting manners drilled into her head, she would have feasted through much of it by now. She could tell her mother had been to the market already: there was a little basket of eggs, an assortment of meats, cheeses and fruits, and a bakery’s worth of bread. Much of it was the familiar morning fare she’d been used to, save for a plate of pastries of kinds she’d never seen.

“They’re new,” her mother added, as Frances took one at random. It was round, soft, and coated with a thin layer of sugar. “The pastries, and the baker, too. I met her at the market just this morning. A sweet woman, if a bit… harsh.”

_Sweet, but harsh._ The words may well have described both her _and_ her wares, Frances thought a second after biting down on the pastry. It was sweet, but it was almost sickeningly so. Had she been anywhere but home, she would almost have suspected a poisoning was at hand. Begrudgingly, she finished the sugary ball of dough, before smiling at her mother. “It’s lovely,” she said.

_Lovely._ Yes, it was just lovely. Frances kept herself from sighing too deeply, then picked up the envelope from the table and turned it over in her hands a few times. For a moment, she was lost in thought, staring only at the address written on the envelope — written in Percy’s familiar hand, of course.

“If I may,” she then said, “I have some matters to attend to.”

Frances punctuated this by waving the envelope, and sure enough, it had worked: she received only a small nod from her mother in return, but it was enough approval to know she wouldn’t be punished for leaving now. And so she did, abandoning her place at the breakfast table to return to the writing desk.

Careful not to crease it or its contents, Frances set the envelope from Yanille aside, then returned to her other letter. The ink from earlier had already dried, but the letter was unfinished still:

_“Dear Julie,_

_Thank you for writing to me. We are doing quite well here, despite some of the things that have happened. Percy is still in Yanille, and we do not know when he will return, but we have been assured that things are still well for him, too. Business is alright: the ships are coming in more slowly, but they are still coming. I have heard talk of possible investigations into the matter, so with any luck, things should be back to normal soon._

_But, Jule, about you. My mind keeps drifting to worry: are you and your father still doing well? Little news of the plague reaches our ears, save for the reminders that it is still there, and each time I hear of it I keep thinking of you.”_

Frances leaned forward, resting her forehead on one hand and gently gripping her quill in the other. _Time to continue, then._

_“I know why you and your father left, and I know that there is nothing I could have done to keep you on this side of the city, but I still miss you. If the gates open again, I will come to see you as soon as I can. In the meantime…”_

“Fran, dear?”

_Ignore it. Keep writing._

_“…my hope will surely…”_

“Fran!”

_Urgh._

No time to finish this mess. Frances hurriedly added some well-wishes and signed the letter, and only just kept herself from folding up the paper, still wet with ink. _This is a disaster,_ she thought, _but it’s better than nothing. She’ll be glad to hear something from me, at least._ Before her name could be called a third time, Frances ran downstairs — and she realized something.

_What is she doing here?_

There, all smiles and wrinkles, was her grandmother — the woman who had called her. She looked happy to see her granddaughter, and certainly Frances couldn’t resist to smile back, either. Visits from her were rare, but they were also pleasant.

“Good to see you, dear. Where is your brother?”

“With the Knights,” Frances said, sitting down. Her mother and father both were already there, and had she not been so desperate to send her letter out, she’d have felt guilty about letting them wait. “He’s in Yanille now.”

“Yanille! By Saradomin, I hope the boy’s alright.” The old woman laughed, then turned back to Frances. In that moment, the silence hung heavily across the air. Her parents hadn’t said anything. _Why?_

“Fran, I have something important to ask of you.” Her grandmother sighed, and her expression grew more grim. Something was wrong, and something was about to happen. In an instant, the room felt more tense than it ever did.

And something _snapped._

“Do _not_ drag her into this!” Her mother was the first to say something. “I told you, we want nothing to do with this!”

“He is your _brother,_ Clau—”

_“Nothing!”_ Frances dared not make a move as her mother rose, red and seething. “How many more times must I repeat myself?”

“And he is _my_ son. I think that allows me to say _something_ , at least!” She shot a fiendish glare at her daughter, then turned to Frances. “Now, your task.”

“Task?” Both Frances and her grandmother did all they could to ignore the furious woman nearby. It was hard, of course, but right now it seemed necessary.

Her grandmother nodded, then procured a small cloth bundle holding several items. Frances couldn’t tell what items they were from looks alone, but as the bundle was moved into her arms, she took the opportunity to try and find out more. Dragging her thumb over one side, she thought she could make out the teeth of a comb. Elsewhere, where she had brushed her arm past the strange bundle, it felt like something inside had moved — a wheel?

“Yes, a task.” Her grandmother sighed deeply. “I wish I could talk about this in private, and I wish I could tell you everything. But you might know a little already. Ah, well, this will have to do.”

“But what is that task?”

“Those items belonged to my son, when he still lived here. But,” and her voice began to tremble ever so slightly, “he’s gone now.”

“Gone,” Frances responded. “Yes, I know that. Twenty years ago.”

“That was when he left Ardougne behind, yes. At the time, he was still Vincent D’Ailette.” A short silence. “I did not know what became of him for many years after that, despite my efforts.”

“But you know now?” Frances suspected what was coming, and that she wouldn’t like it.

“Yes, dear. A few days ago, he passed.”

The air in the room felt suffocating now. _Why? She hadn’t ever known him. He was a memory, a story her parents sometimes told her long ago. A cautionary tale. No, that wasn’t why._ She glanced at her mother, who said nothing. Instead, she only clenched her fists, so hard that they were trembling. Her father stared only at the ground.

_Say something,_ she wanted to ask. _Say something, please!_

Nothing happened.

Then, though she couldn’t remember choosing to speak, Frances broke the silence. The words were so heavy that it felt like her throat would burst apart when they passed through.

“What would you have me do?”

“Bring those items to wherever he may rest now. And, if you can, bring something of his back from there. I’d like to have something to remember him by.”

It _sounded_ easy enough, Frances supposed. “From where?”

“From Lumbridge.”

“That’s… far.”

“Which is why I’ve asked you to do it, Fran.” Her grandmother smiled a little. “But there are ways to get there faster, still. So, Fran, would you like to do this or not?”

“She won’t,” her mother snapped. “She is _not_ going anywhere!”

“ _Claudia._ You’ve sent your son to Yanille, for Saradomin’s sake! Is it not good to give her a chance to travel, too?”

“That’s _different!_ What if there’s nothing there? What will she do then?”

“Then,” her grandmother continued, “she will return to Ardougne, and let me know. I will be comforted knowing I was mistaken, and she will have had a nice trip, regardless. Fran, my dear. What do you say?” 

…What _would_ she say? There was no right option here. More than that, she was lost: she truly had never known her uncle. Perhaps he’d held her once, as a child. But she couldn’t be expected to remember any of that.

There was a great tension holding everyone in the room, and below that, there was deep darkness. It was strife, it was hatred, it was enmity, but most of all it was many things that she did not know.

It was many things she _could_ not know.

“I’ll go.”

She did not fall into the darkness. Rather, it felt like there was a net, catching her. _Keep that up._ “Thank you, thank you, my dear! I promise, it will be worth your while.”

Neither of her parents said anything. They said nothing as Frances stood up. She knew her grandmother still held considerable sway over their family, but she hadn’t ever experienced _how_ much. It felt like she had entered forbidden territory — but she wasn’t being punished. Terrifying, ominous… and just the slightest bit liberating.

“Why, then it seems matters are settled. Fran, I shall see you off at the northern road out of Ardougne.” With that, her grandmother slowly stood up and made her way to the door. Frances turned back to look at her parents once more; truthfully, it was a worried look, but it was too late to change her mind.

Instead, she ran to her room, taking whatever she suspected she might need or whatever she’d like to have with her. The letter to Julie — she’d hand that off on her way out of the city. Percy’s letter… yes, she’d have to take that with her too. Perhaps she would get a chance to read it on her way there, and if she was lucky, she could write a response as well. What more? A weapon, just in case?

As she packed whatever she would take with her, Frances realized she truly had no idea what would happen. The mission was clear as could be, but there were so many doubts that clung to her. _But it’s too late_ , she kept reminding herself. _Too late._

_It will be easy,_ she thought, leaving her home without saying goodbye — a wave was all she left them. _It will be simple,_ she thought, walking through the winding streets, heading north.

_It will be quick,_ she thought, as she left Ardougne.


	2. Ostinato

The afternoon stillness was pierced by a hissing arrow.

Far from Ardougne, far from Kandarin, it was a quiet Pentember day. Lumbridge had its own brand of market bustle, but it was not nearly as oppressive; there was a church and it was usually busy, but it was past that hour already. The people simply went about their day, and the town felt at ease.

Frances Daylett had not left her hometown yet, nor had she an inkling of who lived here and why she should care. From now until a week later, she would remain unaware — unaware and far, far away.

The arrow struck a rabbit, and the rabbit fell dead. The proud hunter, a young woman standing a little further away, left her hiding spot and ran straight for her prey; following the arrow’s path to inspect her prize.

_A clean shot indeed,_ she thought as she knelt, turning the dead creature over. _Should be more than good enough._

“Bonnie!” a voice from behind called. “C’mere — what’ve you got?”

Still on the ground, Bonnie turned around, lifting the dead rabbit up and smiling proudly as she did so. Her bow lay beside her, its string catching a little of the late afternoon light. “This,” she said. “And you?”

“Not a thing. Not in the past hour, at least. Seems _you’ve_ been taking it all. Bested by my own daughter! Unbelievable.”

Bonnie laughed, then got up. “We could always have a rematch tomorrow. If you’re not scared to lose again, at least!”

“Oooh, I’ve found a fierce one, here! Soon all the woods will be empty, and I’ll have raised a monster!”

“Taught by the best, of course.”

“And a great teacher I make.” He paused for a moment, then looked to near where the sun was. “Not too great at other things, I’m afraid. Ah, well!”

“Something wrong?” Bonnie asked, a tone of genuine concern in her voice.

In response, her father laughed a little — then some more. “Something wrong with the sun, yes! Why, it’s setting too fast. We’ll have to get home quickly, else your mom won’t be happy. Let’s go?”

“Oh!” Bonnie looked at the sky, where her father had looked moments before. He was right! Had they really been here for that long?

She glanced down at the dead rabbit in her hands. _Too bad_ , she thought. _Would’ve loved to have you for dinner._

Dinner, even without the spoils of the hunt to liven it up, was pleasant. There was a thick soup, made with at least (for that was what Bonnie could readily recognize) potatoes, onions, cabbage and corn, although it was very likely that produce from some more local farms had made its way in there, too. It was a mishmash of things, really — yet her mother could always make it taste like _home._

As Bonnie tore off a piece of bread and let it soak up some of the soup, her mother began to speak.

“Looks like a long day, t’morrow. Lowe — you know, the one from up in Varrock? — placed an order with us. Several, actually. He’ll have the hides delivered by early morning.”

“That saves _us_ some time trying to find them, at least,” her father responded, tearing off much smaller pieces of his bread at a time. “You’d think we have an army of dragon-hunters here, what with the demand for dragonleather lately.”

“Must not be any tanneries up north, I s’pose. Ah, I’m not complaining, see. Food on the table —” she helped herself to another bowl of soup — “and food in our bellies. Bonnie, love, could you go out t’morrow morning and see to it that the hides get here safely?”

“I _could,_ ” Bonnie said, only barely suppressing a laugh and, even then, not at all managing to sound serious, “if _you’ll_ let me have some time for a rematch.” She glanced at her father and smiled.

“A rematch?” her mother asked, taking some time to think this request over — mostly, what it meant. “Ah. Vin! What’re you doing to that poor girl?”

“What am _I_ doing?” Her father leaned backwards, feigning an insulted expression. “What _I’m_ doing is losing, that’s what! She beat me today, _again!”_

“You’ve raised a fighter, then. No; a monster! —”

“— That’s what _I_ said, too!”

“But a good monster, I hope,” Bonnie said, finishing her last bit of soup. “Or shall I go back and bury those poor creatures?”

Her father laughed. “And lower your count, or what? No, no; with any luck we’ll have a fine dinner tomorrow.”

“I’ll take that,” Bonnie responded. And she smiled. And she laughed.

In her heart, Bonnie could imagine no greater joy than this — than what she was feeling right now. The rest of the evening was joyful, and so was the rest of the night, until at last, Bonnie slept.

The next morning, Bonnie awoke early at her mother’s request. She was used to it: one wrong delivery too many, and that had been that. From that moment on, Bonnie would see to it that each hide ended up precisely where it needed to be — at the tannery, of course — and that things were all set for work to begin that day.

Bonnie did not mind waking in the early morning hours, however. Lumbridge during noon was such a lovely, lively town; yet at morning, when it was still quiet and peaceful, she felt happiest.

It was peaceful and quiet before she’d met with today’s deliveryman, and it was peaceful and quiet after she’d met with him. Certainly, the farmers were waking and working already; they too, however, could feel that these morning hours were better if they were undisturbed. And so they worked like they always did, but they did so silently. Not somberly — simply _silently._

For some time, it felt like Bonnie was alone in the town. Perhaps even alone in the world. It was not a sad kind of thought; it was a liberating one, for it made her feel entirely free. It was loneliness, but solely in a _good_ way. And for a moment, the world felt perfect.

_And then she heard a scream._

As fast as she could, Bonnie ran home. _But that was the direction the scream came from,_ she realized — _oh, Saradomin, please tell me everything’s alright…_

_But there were rumors! Rumors of danger, rumors of…_

The throbbing — was it the panic or just the running? — made it hard to think. It made it hard to focus. Yet there still was only one goal she was focused on: get home, and get home _now._ Windows, curtains, doors even were opening all around her. _Surely they must’ve heard it too!_ That, or was it her frantic running?

Either way, it didn’t matter. It sounded _bad_ , and that was all she needed to know.

And then, once she reached her home…

…it _looked_ bad, too…

“Bonnie! Bonnie! Oh, Saradomin — he’s, he’s, I…”

…and at her feet lay her father, dead. 

_______________________________________________________________________________

“Good morning,” an unfamiliar voice called from outside, knocking on the door. “Is this the Rossick family?”

Enough time had passed for news to travel to Ardougne. It was enough time to acknowledge that what had happened was over, and that it could not be changed. But it was far from _truly_ over: the wounds had not yet healed, and in spite of the two Rossick women’s normally joyful nature, the mood in the house remained a somber one.

The town had taken good care of them, and they were grateful. But for all that, they were still hurting.

The stranger introduced herself as Frances Daylett, a young noblewoman who had come here from Ardougne. Unsure of what to do, yet driven by hospitality, Bonnie’s mother had introduced herself and her daughter; then offered her a meal and asked her to sit down so she could explain what brought her here.

“Your father,” she asked Bonnie, “he was known as Vin Rossick, I understand?”

Bonnie took a deep breath. _No, no — calm down._ “He… erm, yes, that was my dad’s name.” _Another deep breath._ “Why..?”

Frances looked away for a moment to consider her approach. _But really,_ she thought, _there is no way to do this well. Is there?_ “Bonnie, do you know of the Daylett name?” _Damn this all! I should have stayed in Ardougne!_ “Or the D’Ailette name,” she added; emphasizing the slight difference in pronunciation.

“I’ve never heard of either,” Bonnie answered. “Did my dad know them?”

Frances closed her eyes for a second or two, holding her breath while she did. “Yes. That was his family name, many years ago. Before you were born.”

“Oh…” Bonnie looked around, thinking of something to say. “But why are you here, then?”

It was tempting to speak curtly; to have this over with as soon as possible. Yet that would deepen the wound only further — and what point would it even have? She’d be back home in Ardougne a little sooner. And then what? Back into that pointless quarrel? Being questioned by her parents about her motives, her plans, and what in Gielinor she was even thinking? No, this was a welcome break. 

Besides, Bonnie seemed kind enough. “He was my uncle,” Frances told her, “my mother’s brother.”

“So you’re my cousin,” Bonnie responded, not giving Frances a chance to continue. “Nice to meet you?”

“Nice to meet you too,” Frances replied, subduing a small laugh. “His mother — _our_ grandmother — sent me here.”

Frances took the bag she had brought with her and opened it, retrieving a still-wrapped bundle of cloth. “Inside this,” she began, lifting up the bundle to show it to Bonnie, “are things that belonged to your father. He left Ardougne twenty years ago, and his mother missed him dearly.”

Handing over the bundle to Bonnie and gesturing for her to open it, Frances continued: “She wanted this all to be buried here, to honor his memory. And,” she added, as Bonnie began to untie the rope, “she requested that I bring something of his from here back. If you’re alright with that, of course.”

Frances smiled gently at her, but it took a long time for Bonnie to respond. _Too long. Was this too much?_

“Bonnie,” she added, after some time. “Shall we go outside?”

Bonnie nodded; the two left, and they began to walk. Not to walk anywhere in particular — it was the kind of walk that people did when they were either looking to think deeply, or not at all. _And after coming such a long way, it’s probably nice for her to see the town a bit, too;_ Bonnie thought.

Frances looked around, still keeping an eye on Bonnie every now and then. It was indeed nice: it reminded her of the road out north from Ardougne, past the farms and then past Hemenster. It was the same road she took when she left. There were indeed many farms here, too; and the Lum river saw several fishermen hoping to catch something. For a moment, she could convince herself she wasn’t so far from home.

“I’m sorry,” Bonnie muttered, as the pair walked past a pond surrounded by willows. She stopped for a moment, then walked towards the pond and kneeled at the water’s edge. Frances followed her, sitting down next to her. “I don’t know…”

Frances frowned, then placed a hand on her shoulder. “I know,” she said to Bonnie. “It’s normal for it to hurt.”

“Yes, but it’s been a week!” Bonnie was fighting back tears now — and what pained Frances to hear was that she was _losing._ “I shouldn’t be like this. I’m sorry.”

“A week isn’t enough, Bonnie. It never is.”

By now, Bonnie had started fidgeting with the cloth bundle in frustration. It was still half-unwrapped, though she didn’t make any efforts to finish opening it; not until at last, she seemed to calm down.

Gentle ripples passed through the water, and the long branches of the willows moved ever so slightly in the wind.

“Frances,” she then said, “do you know what happened?”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Frances responded, unsure of what else she could say.

But Bonnie continued on. “It was morning. Early morning. I think he had just woken up. Mom wasn’t awake yet.” A deep breath. She pointed towards the river, a little further away now. “I was on the other side, helping out with a delivery of hides.”

She spoke more slowly, and the tears returned. “And I heard my mom scre-scream, so I ran back and I…”

“It’s alright,” Frances whispered, squeezing her shoulder slightly. She hoped that it was helping somehow; in truth, however, she only did it for want of any knowledge or experience that could help her here. She should have expected this to happen — but she _didn’t._

“Do they know who did it?” Frances asked, more bluntly than she intended. Somehow, though, the reaction she got wasn’t entirely as she feared.

“Not really,” Bonnie said, now looking at the road that led out of Lumbridge. “There have been rumors, lately. Of cultists. Zamorakian ones.”

“I thought those mostly kept to the north?” Frances asked. It was what she’d heard about the kingdoms to the east, anyways; she’d soon find out if there was any truth to that.

“I thought so, too,” Bonnie said. “But there was a mark of Zamorak, there. That’s… that’s why we think it was that.”

“But you don’t know _who_ those people are,” Frances added.

“Mhm. And I don’t know if we’ll ever find out.”

For a moment, it became quiet again; then, Bonnie unwrapped the cloth and placed it on the grass next to her. Inside it were several small items; object that had belonged to her father during various stages of his life — before he left Ardougne, at least. There were simple household items, but she also noticed a children’s toy in the form of a little wooden unicorn. Holding the unicorn in her hands, Bonnie suddenly smiled.

“I don’t think it’s a problem if we bury these,” she said to Frances. “What do you want to take back?”

“Anything’s fine,” Frances responded. “It can just be something small. I think she will be happy either way.”

Again, Bonnie did not respond, instead looking out over the water. Then, after a long silence, she spoke again: “What’s Ardougne like?”

“It’s a great city,” Frances replied, not questioning why she would ask. “It’s not like Lumbridge. Each morning, the city wakes up, becomes noisy, then goes to sleep again. But even at night, it never quite becomes silent.”

“I’ve heard about the market there,” Bonnie said. “Is it really so amazing?”

“It is,” Frances replied. “There are some who are always there, selling their same wares. But at times, you’ll see merchants come from afar to sell their wares, and people waiting all morning to see what they have. I do not go there often, but it’s a sight I’ve not seen elsewhere.”

“And the people?”

“That’s difficult. There are many people, as you’d expect. There are the nobility, who mostly mind their own — and each other’s — business. And there are the many workers, who do… well, whatever they specifically do. And there are many more people I’ve yet to meet.”

“I’d love to see it, someday.” Bonnie looked up at the sky, now smiling. Seeing her, Frances could not help but smile as well. For a moment, they were simply quiet and happy, or at least sufficiently distracted from their worries.

Then, Frances got up, and Bonnie looked at her. “Frances,” she said, “can I go with you? To Ardougne?”

“It’s far, though. Will your mother be alright?”

Bonnie frowned. “I can ask her. Besides, it’s only going to be for a while. I think I just… well, I just want to see it, I guess.”

After a moment, Frances spoke. “If you’re sure. But I think my grandmother — no, _your_ grandmother — would appreciate meeting you. Does that sound good?”

“It does!” Quickly, Bonnie got up as well, carefully lifting the cloth and all the items within as she did. With that, the two began their walk back.

But they did not walk straight home. Instead, with Bonnie leading the way through Lumbridge, they made their way to the local church. Inside, it was quiet; the building was mostly empty, save for a priest who Bonnie greeted as “Father Aereck”. He offered her some words of comfort, then took the bundle of items from her, saying some words of prayer over them. He then promised Bonnie that he would ensure they’d lie with their original owner, and both Bonnie and Frances were satisfied with this outcome.

And when they returned home, there was Bonnie’s mother, waiting for them. She had already found some old things of her husband’s lying around the house, and was glad to give a few to Frances; not everything, of course, as she still wanted something to remember him by herself.

“Mom,” Bonnie said, after a while, “can I go with Frances to Ardougne? I’d like to meet my grandmother. It’ll only be a short trip, I promise.”

Her mother thought deeply, then spoke: “You know I need you here more than ever now, don’t you, Bonnie?”

“Yes, I do! I’m sorry…”

“…You underestimate me, Bonnie,” she responded, then gave her daughter a great big hug. “You know I’m tough! Goodness, where do you think _you_ got it from?”

Bonnie sighed with relief, though she tried not to make it _too_ obvious. Her mother then continued: “I’ll see if I can find someone else to help out in the meantime. We were thinking about finding more apprentices, lately. Might not be so bad an idea. But, Bonnie, I’ll manage even alone. All I need is to know that _you_ can, too.”

Bonnie hugged her mother, more tightly this time. “Thank you, mom. Thank you so much.”

“Let me know what it was like, when you return. And if you find anything nice there, bring it back?”  
“I will. Promise.”

The two laughed, and Frances smiled as she watched them. _Maybe this was alright,_ she thought. _Maybe this will be alright._


End file.
